


Heart-Shaped Box

by ryttu3k



Series: Resilience [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Ableist Language, Anger, Autistic Character, Discrimination, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Growing Up, Mentors, Teen Angst, Teenagers, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tall immortal meets angry teen, both help each other out more than they'll really know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart-Shaped Box

With a very loud clang, the winter night is broken as another trash can hits the ground.

There is, AZ observed, a frustrated ball of teenage angst and anger in the alleyway that extends from one of the many avenues that line Lumiose City. A child, really, shape hidden under a heavy coat and baggy jeans and an oversized flannel shirt, dark hair flying in their face as they slam another battered-sneaker-covered foot into another trash can.

Their face is smudged and dusty, streaked with tears, and AZ watches quietly before asking, "What did the trash can do?"

The child whirls around, eyes widening enormously at the sight of him. "Wha -" they rasp, blinking a few times. "Whoa. You're _huge_."

"So I have heard," AZ says gravely, and glances at the fallen trash cans. "You seem to be making rather a lot of noise."

Scowling, the youth shoves grubby hands in their jean pockets, leaning against the wall with an insouciant nonchalance that looks more forced than anything else. "Yeah, well. It's not like I'm hurting anyone." Withdrawing their hands, they smooth out a creased cigarette and lighter, lighting up in a practiced action and drawing on it.

AZ glances at the cigarette with distaste; he's never really been fond of the stuff. "You are only harming yourself," he points out dryly. "You are still very young."

Glancing down at the cigarette, the child shrugs again. "What, this? I turn sixteen next year, who cares if I start a few months before I'm legal?" Deliberately, they draw in again, then let out the smoke - in AZ's direction.

Waving the smoke away, AZ's expression flickers into the irritated for a moment before he smoothes it away. "Please do not do that." Still, he sits, fixing the child with a hard stare. "Why are you out here?"

The youth's expression falls as they sit as well. "Just venting," they mutter, shoving dark curls out of their face. "It's been shitty at school... all these people expecting 'great things' from me just 'cause I got skipped forward a few years... they don't care that I suck at other stuff or that I don't know what I wanna do..."

AZ tilts his head. "That is hardly an uncommon thing for fifteen-year-olds. They are placing undue pressure on you?"

"Nah." The child lets out a short laugh, drawing hard on the cigarette. This time, the smoke is allowed to drift up into the air. "S'more I'm putting it on myself. I'm really good at science, especially Pokemon biology, and everyone said that I'm 'gifted' and bullshit like that. But I'm just a fucking weirdo."

"Because," AZ says, "Of your penchant for kicking over trash cans?"

The child actually lets out a more genuinely amused laugh. "No, 'cause - I'm just weird." Their shoulders slump a little; they cup their hands around the end of the cigarette. "I can't concentrate on stuff and everything's too loud and I move weirdly and I don't know how to talk to people and I don't have any friends and like - my sister, I have a twin, she can do everything, she's already an actress and a really good trainer and I bet she's going to be a superstar _and_ league champion or something, and she's known who she is since we were, like, three, and I'm just a weirdo who doesn't even know whether I'm a boy or a girl and I have no idea what to _do_."

AZ tilts his head, observing the child and their tired grey eyes, noting the sheen of tears in them now, the way their hands tremble and only still when they move to their shoelace and start twisting it around their fingertips, and he nods. "I have seen many over the years who have been concerned about the same things," he says seriously, "They have largely been okay."

Exhaling through their nose, the child swipes furtively at their eyes. "Whatever. Adults always say that. They don't _understand_."

Actually managing a smile, AZ dips his head. "That may be true. It has been a very long time since I was fifteen."

(Around two thousand, nine hundred, and ninety years, give or take.)

They sit quietly, AZ observing, the child focused on the cigarette. "What will you do?" he finally says, breaking the fragile silence, "In the short term."

"Go home, I guess," the child says, dropping the spent cigarette on the ground and grinding it out with their heel. "Got school tomorrow. Another day of being called a freak."

AZ raises his eyebrow. "And what of this?" He gestures to the alley, to the fallen trash cans, to the bags spilling out of them.

"What of what?" The child's jaw is set, eyes defiant, as they stand.

AZ continues to stare steadily, and the youth wavers, taking a step back, visibly unsettled. And then they turn on their heel, and run.

Sighing, AZ draws himself to his full height and begins to righten the trash cans, and under his breath, he mutters, "Teeangers."

 

It's spring, and the youth is back.

There's no violence to trash cans today, just a miserable teenager with a cigarette and messy curls, legs drawn up and small against the wall. AZ settles opposite them and waits, and the youth takes another draw of their cigarette and does not look up.

"Don't people stare at you?" they finally say, lowering their legs to sit cross-legged. "I mean, you're like nine feet tall!"

"Eight feet and ten inches," AZ says placidly.

The child raises their eyebrows, grinning in a kind of wry way. "That's like - the average length of a Seviper or something. What happened, something use Growth on you?"

AZ does not answer, merely closing his eyes. He is not entirely sure, in all honesty - whether it was the weapon itself or the unnaturally long life it cursed him with, whether he has become stretched thin with his Search, whether he will continue to stretch and be diminished if he does not find Her.

"Fine," the child says shortly, and draws in again, coughing a little at the smoke. "Keep your secrets."

AZ fixes them with a look. "You should not bind your chest like that," he says suddenly, "Certainly not if you're going to smoke."

Defensively, the youth crosses their arms, hunching over more and glaring through their curls. "That's none of your business," they snap, although there's a faint wince there as well. "Besides, I felt like a boy today, so... so you can fuck off if you don't understand."

Unmoving, AZ simply continues to look at the boy. "I am not judging your choice," he says evenly, "Just the harm you are putting yourself in. I have seen many who bind their chest like that. It is damaging to the lungs and the ribs."

"Got any better ideas?" he snaps.

"No," AZ says quietly.

Sulkily, the boy pulls on his cigarette again. "Are you gonna lecture me more or just stare and judge?" he says shortly, running a hand through his already messy curls. "'Cause both are kind of shitty. I get enough lectures and staring and judging at school."

AZ's eyes close. "I am merely here to keep you company."

"Oh." He looks a little taken aback. "Uh, thanks."

There's a silence, somewhere between awkward and calm. AZ keeps his eyes shut, although his senses are prickled; his sensitive ears can take note of little creeping sounds, the boy's breathing, the sound of traffic out in the streets. And, finally, the boy's voice, as he speaks up.

"Um, I talked to the school psychologist." AZ looks up to find the boy staring down at his sneakers, fiddling with the laces, twisting the ends around his fingertips. "They said I had something called Asperger's. Or ADD, although that's an Unovan diagnosis. They're not really sure." He smiles wryly. "I dunno, maybe it's both. But that's why I'm a weirdo. Well," he adds, "Some of why I'm a weirdo, anyway."

AZ nods slowly, filtering through his memories. "ADD, I have heard of," he nods. "Asperger's, I have not."

The boy shrugs. "It's kind of a newish diagnosis. It's like... like Autism, except you're not mentally retarded and you started talking normally and stuff."

"Is that what they call it now?" AZ's eyes close again. "It used to be called feeble-minded, moron, imbecile, idiot, amentia, cretin..."

Making an incredulous noise, the boy hesitates before speaking. "Those are - really mean things to call someone," he says, voice soft. "I mean, I get called an idiot a lot if I mess stuff up... it's rude..."

"They used to be purely scientific terms," AZ nods. "As is 'mentally retarded' now. I have no doubt that there will be another euphemism to replace it as it becomes solely known as an insult. Perhaps even 'ADD' and 'Autism'. Humanity will always find a way to turn descriptions meant for people not like themselves into insults."

"And I'm not like others," he concludes glumly. "So no matter what the label I get is, someone's going to be shitty about it."

"Yes," AZ says, and fixes his gaze on the child. "Is that any reason to not be true to yourself? There will always be discord and hatred between groups, like and unlike."

The boy falls silent, finishing his cigarette and extinguishing it beneath his heel. "People are shit, then," he says shortly, and his eyes are shining with tears again. "Why the fuck did you even tell me that, to tell me that people are awful and shouldn't be trusted? I hate this, it's not fair!"

"I once thought that, yes," AZ says. _The world, the world caused the war, the war made me lose Her, the world caused this..._ "But I learned that there are always good people. There is cruelty. But there is also kindness. There are those who attack differences. There are those who learn to embrace them."

"Sure doesn't seem like it." The boy pushes himself to his feet, eyes hidden behind his hair. "I'm gonna go."

At least he is saying goodbye this time, AZ thinks with a faint smile. "Goodbye, then."

"Yeah. Bye," he says with a scowl, and kicks an empty trash can over as he turns to go.

AZ watches.

The boy hesitates, then sighs, circles back, and rightens it again. They go about their separate ways.

 

It's the middle of summer when AZ next sees the youth.

Leaning against the alley wall, eyes closed, cigarette in hand, they speak without opening their eyes; apparently recognising the sound of AZ's footsteps. "I just finished school and I'm going to university soon. I may not be sixteen yet but you still can't tell me off for smoking."

"I was not going to." AZ sits, giving the child - not really a child any more, actually - the option to sit or stand as they choose. "I see you are not wrapping your chest."

Flushing, the youth sits down hard, folding both arms across their chest. "Don't stare at my boobs, you sound like a pervert. Anyway, it's a girl day today."

AZ nods gravely. "I see. I was only looking at your shirt. Are you a Buddhist?"

The girl glances down at her shirt, looking perplexed. "You've never heard of Nirvana?"

"I have," AZ nods once. "It is a Buddhist concept, the stillness of the mind that is achieved after the fires of passion, aversion, and delusion have passed. It is very old."

"Oh." She looks a little perplexed at this, then shakes her head. "No, Nirvana's a band. Well, they were, the lead singer died a year or two ago, so they broke up."

AZ blinks. "I see."

"I can sing you a bit," the girl offers, and immediately launches into a few lines of song in Unovan: "She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak, I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks. I've been drawn into your magnet tar-pit trap, I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black."

Her voice is good, even if her pronunciation of Unovan is a little off and the lyrics are... strange, to say the least, and AZ is left very puzzled. "I suspect there is some deficiency in translation there," he says delicately, "Are you certain those lyrics are, ah, correct?"

The girl snorts. "Yeah. I looked up the Kalosian translation and it's just as weird. I think they were on heaps of drugs when they wrote it."

Well, he's heard stranger. "I see," he says, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you for sharing that. Your voice is very pretty."

Immediately, her expression closes up again, practically hiding behind the cigarette again. "Don't say that."

"That your voice is pretty?" AZ blinks again.

Shrugging, she fixes her gaze on the floor again. "It sounds too... girly. I might be having a girl day but I'm not a girl."

"I see," AZ murmurs. "In that case, I will say your voice is very nice."

There's a flash of a grateful smile. "Thanks." Drawing again on the cigarette, the youth lets smoke circle into the air, gazing up at it. "It's always been really easy for my sister," they say suddenly. "I mean, with - with things like this. She's known she was a girl from when we were super little, and so Maman thought she had two daughters, but I just... didn't feel like one. A girl, I mean. So I thought that meant that I was a boy, and that was okay for a bit. But I don't necessarily feel like a boy all the time either." They draw back on the cigarette again, blowing out with such force that they cough. "I don't know. I guess I'm just 'confused'. That's what some people said when I said I liked boys _and_ girls, and that's what they'll say if they find out I don't even know if _I'm_ a boy or a girl."

"I have met many others like you," AZ murmurs, and suddenly there's a pair of wide, intense grey eyes fixed on him. "Others who find their gender in flux. People like you have existed as long as there has been a concept of gender, in all the cultures of the world."

"Oh." The youth sounds somewhat overwhelmed, buried beneath the immensity of the tidbit AZ has just said. "Um - you sound like you've seen a lot, and - how old are you, anyway? You must have seen a bunch of stuff over the years, right?"

AZ nods. "I have forgotten my true age," he says, voice calm, and it only trembles a little when he adds, "It has been somewhere around three thousand years."

The youth's jaw drops. "Okay," they say shakily, "I was thinking, like... eighty or something..."

"A bit more than eighty," AZ smiles.

"Just a bit!" There's a hint of a disbelieving laugh in the child's voice, nearly sixteen but still a child, still so young compared to him.

"Just a bit." AZ exhales, making himself comfortable against the wall. "Let me tell you a story..."

The child leaves with a head full of knowledge about what anger can to do a person.

AZ leaves with a weight off his shoulders, a small, delicate weight.

 

Autumn leaves swirl through the alleyways, and the youth's boots crunch as they approach AZ companionably.

"I turned sixteen last week," they say in lieu of a greeting, pulling out their lighter and retrieving a cigarette out of a box (store bought, this time). "And I got to buy my cigarettes from the store at university. It's pretty good, there."

AZ offers them a smile, noting the calmer air around them. "How is university?"

"Good." It sounds more genuine, a sigh of relief in the single word. "It's less... conforming than school, I guess. I mean, I'm younger than nearly everyone because I got skipped ahead so much, but it's still good." They hesitate once, then add softly, "And they have actual psychologists. I mean, more than just a school counsellor."

Nodding gravely, AZ gently says, "I am glad."

Glad that the child - because they are all children to him, but especially this one, with vulnerability and pain held close to their skin - is finding a place to fit in, glad that the child is getting help. He knows well what anger can do, and wishes only for peace, for all to find peace.

Settling cross-legged against the wall, the youth smokes for a moment, words considered carefully. "I joined some groups," they finally say, "An environmental group, and... a queer group. You're right. There are others like me." The ghost of a smile. "It's nice."

AZ nods without judgement. "As I said there would be. And how are your studies?"

"Good. I'm doing a science degree - I think I'll major in Pokemon biology." The smile fades for a moment. "I mean, I guess that's the best one. I still don't really know what I'll do. How are you meant to decide what to do with the rest of your life when you're sixteen?"

"Even at my age it's hard." _Where is She?_ "I still wander. I still search."

The youth sighs. "Well, hopefully I'll work out what to do before I'm your age," they joke, worrying their lip a little. "I'm thinking of doing Study Abroad. It might be nice to see more of the world, right? My great-grandparents were from Sinnoh and I know a bit of the language, so maybe there."

"Give my regards to Professor Rowan," AZ says with a nod, and the youth nods as well. "It is a lovely region. However, be prepared for extremely cold winters."

"Yeah, Papa mentioned them." They smile cautiously. "There's an ice festival that sounds really neat. And - maybe I'll travel when I get over there. See other regions. I can go to Hoenn to defrost a bit."

"Hoenn is nice too." There is a tree in Sootopolis, a tree he planted. He hopes She sees it. He hopes She returns. "I hope your travels will serve you well."

Their conversation, this crisp autumn evening, is short. AZ can sense that the anger that had sat beneath the youth's skin that winter night is faded, replaced with a wanderlust that he can understand all too well. Rising to his feet, he offers the child a hand up, then sets both hands on their narrow shoulders.

The child watches him, grey eyes curious.

"You will see much in the world. Many kinds of people. They all have hearts and minds of their own. Some may conflict with your own. Do not dismiss them out of hand. Learn from them."

Brow furrowed, the youth nods once, lips parted in a question, hesitating. "What's your name?" they ask softly, "I mean, I know your life story but not your name."

AZ smiles once. "They call me AZ."

The child nods, mouth forming the words. "Got it." With a smile, they add, "I'm Augustine. Augustine Sycamore."

"A pleasure to meet you, Augustine Sycamore," AZ says gravely, and Augustine smiles again.

"Likewise." They exhale, then straighten up more fully, and AZ lets his hands fall free. "Listen, I should go. But I'll see you around, right?"

AZ nods once. "May your travels be illuminating, Augustine Sycamore," he murmurs, and watches as the child goes.

They will not meet again for many years.

 

Augustine Sycamore grows up magnificently.

They travel to Sinnoh, coming back with eyes wide from the world they have seen. They speak eloquently on Pokemon evolution, grey eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. They become a young scientist, name murmured in the journals - here is something good, they say, here is someone with potential.

Augustine Sycamore becomes _Professor_ Augustine Sycamore at the age of thirty, and AZ reads the newspaper coverage with a smile, remembering that fifteen years ago they were an angry child kicking over trash cans in an alley.

He is proud of that child (because, even as an adult, he still cannot help but see the vulnerable youth in the battered sneakers, suspects he will always see that child).

AZ finds his many-times great-nephew. So does Augustine, their hand linked with Lysandre's under the table of the red, red cafe. He watches, wary. If Augustine shares that wariness, he does not speak of it.

Augustine has been Kalos regional professor for three years when Lysandre's plans fall into place. AZ watches as he leads away the girl he had first met in the badlands and waits, waits full of fear, his thoughts solely focused on his great-nephew, a silent plea not to make his mistakes.

Not this time. Not this time. Please, please, not this time.

Two youths in white free him, explaining that Lysandre had activated the weapon, that Serena had hurried to Geosenge to stop him, that Professor Sycamore had sent them to set him free. He thanks Sina and Dexio, and hurries to Geosenge.

Serena is faster. Serena stands with her friends on the edge of the crater, and she is shaken and afraid but resolute.

AZ is lost, sad, hollow. The weapon is gone, but She still remains missing.

What must he do? Where is She?

He does not know.

He finds himself sitting in the train station at Couriway, watching as Serena battles against her Professor. She leaves, setting out for Snowbelle; the Professor watches her go and then joins him at the station.

"I will not ask you if you are alright," AZ says softly.

"It's appreciated." Augustine gives him the ghost of an exhausted smile, letting his legs dangle freely from the edge of the platform. "I just - wish I had been brave enough to talk to him. But I was a coward instead."

"I do not think you are a coward." AZ sits as well, his legs dangling substantially further than Augustine's. "I understand his state of mind. He would have been very hard to persuade."

Augustine's expression is downcast, and he bites at his already-chapped lip. "Do you think he's dead?" he asks, and his voice cracks.

AZ shakes his head. "The line of kings is hard to kill. Perhaps he died. Perhaps he has become like me. But I suspect he has survived. I do not know if I am right. I hope I am, for your sake."

It's only when Augustine reaches up to wipe his eyes that AZ realises that he has been crying softly all this time, and he remembers the angry child with tear-streaked cheeks in the alley. "It's appreciated, my old friend."

AZ chuckles once, the moniker appropriate, and Augustine manages a smile as well.

"I saw the words you wrote," he says placidly. "Did you become who you wanted to be?"

Augustine frowns. "I don't know. Career-wise, certainly. But - Lysandre -"

AZ reaches out and sets a hand on Augustine's narrow shoulder. "Lysandre must come to terms with his own sins. In time, he will remember who he is. He will remember who he is meant to be. Will you wait for him?"

"Forever, if I have to." Augustine gazes out at the waterfalls, expression pensive. "I'll wait as long as he needs me to."

"Then he will return to you."

"I hope so." The Professor lets out a sigh, then stands. "We should probably stop sitting on the edge of the platform, the train back to Lumiose will be arriving in ten minutes. And then I'll have a parade to plan." A smile crosses his lips. "A public thank you to Serena and the kids for helping to save the world."

"I will attend to honour them," AZ says quietly.

He watches Augustine board the train with his shoulders slumped, and then turns, and leaves.

 

The children are honoured in the parade, people cheering from the streets for the heroes that saved Kalos. AZ watches them and wonders how the world would have changed if there had been a Serena around when he had first started to see death as an answer.

He steps forward, the eyes of Lumiose City on him, and asks her to fight.

Torkoal, and Sigilyph, and Golurk are friends. They stand together, and they fight, and he watches the girl and her Pokemon. She nods at him and understands, and he nods back and smiles.

With trainers like this girl, the world is safe from those like him, and those like his great-nephew, and from anyone else who would harm it, and now he is free.

And as his shackles fall, She returns.

He is on his knees, he is raising his hands to Her, he is crying freely. Every fibre of his being hurts, every fibre of his being is being healed.

All he can see is Her, but he can still hear Professor Sycamore's soft voice as he explains to his student what they are seeing.

"His Pokemon was waiting all this time," he says gently, "Waiting for him to return to the man he was. The man who loved Pokemon with all his heart."

AZ laughs through his tears and holds Her, holds his Floette close, and looks up at Augustine and smiles.

They wait. They change. And they'll be alright.

They'll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Based largely on a [discussion](http://ryttu3k.tumblr.com/post/137302133100/kittycatfailcat-ironclad-rad) between ironclad-rad and kittycatfailcat on Tumblr.


End file.
